Price of Life
by xXNattatouilleXx
Summary: [Light Slash] Was there really a price that could be put on life? [Post episode for Monsters in the Box]


**_Title: Price of Life _**

**_Rating: PG _**

**_Disclaimer: The boys are not mine!_**

**_Spoilers: Fannysmackin', Post Mortem and Monster in the Box_**

**_Summary: Could there really be a price put on his life?_**

**_Notes: There MIGHT be an accompaning piece for this... Also this is very light implied slash!_**

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_**He'd been sold out, thrown to the dogs, pushed under a train… But in lemans terms; he'd just been betrayed so violently that it was nearly unbearable. Right there, only a few feet away was the Sheriff, the James family and an oversized novelty cheque. They all grinned for the cameras- declaring this 'a moment in history, for every family that has ever suffered at the clutches of the police'- but no one stopped to notice Greg Sanders vanishing into the background. 

He never thought there could be a price put upon life; no more than a stay at Death Row. But now, the rules of what were right, had suddenly flipped. So now there was a sum of money that could be put upon life… $2.5 million. Somehow that covered the loss of a son, a brother, a friend, a potential father. Somehow all those zeros just made the pain vanish and the death bearable again.

It didn't make it any better for the CSI, did it? He now looked guilty in the eyes of millions because the state didn't have the faith that he'd pull through. That money didn't erase the fact that he'd killed someone that night. He couldn't sleep, he couldn't sleep and he was always looking over his shoulder… To be honest, he was bordering on traumatised. But he'd never get a cheque for that; would he?

People close kept reminding him that he was a hero- he'd saved Stanley Tanner. But in saving one life, he'd got rid of another- how was that at all heroic? Who could really judge whether he was right or wrong, who could say he was a hero? They couldn't know, he'd taken a life that wasn't his to take.

The vultures of the media were hovering about- watching the scene unfurl. They snapped shots of the winners; the day where the average minority won over the powers. The day in which CSI Sanders really got what he deserved; the final nail sealed into his coffin. No longer would the headlines be about the 'Murderous CSI, mows down local teen.' No, it'd be 'State Settles, Sanders gets Served.' More hate mail, more people loathing him, more people questioning why he did it.

Greg didn't know how he'd cope.

"CSI Sanders, how do you feel about the settlement?"

He hadn't realised that the cameras were now focusing on him; that behind the flashes and the lenses, the public waited to be entertained. They were all watching, as if he were an exhibit in the zoo, and they were poking him deliberately so he'd snap, maul one of them and then he'd be finally put down.

"No comment."

"What do you think of the amount that is being given to the family?" Another asked, shoving the microphone close to his face. He could say so many things here; they were dancing on the tip of his tongue. 'Is that how much life is going for now? I better start saving.'

"No comment."

They didn't know when to quit; when to know that a story just wasn't coming. They didn't realise that the state had force-fed him so many 'no comments' that he'd managed to start throwing them out without even thinking. Like now, he wasn't paying attention to the squawks coming from the press; he just knew not to feed them anything. They didn't realise that what CSI Sanders thought and said, were completely disconnected now.

"Are you going to finish your work as a CSI now?"

"What?" That had somehow reconnected his mouth and his brain just in time to evoke a dim-witted response. He mentally kicked himself; where did all the no comments vanish to?

"Are you going to leave your position at the Las Vegas Crime Lab?"

He hadn't ever thought about that; he hadn't considered stopping his work. Greg hadn't had time to think about life after the settlement; he'd been too busy thinking about how he'd manage to pull through- how, if he had to, pay for the death of their son. But now, the State settled- did it mean he'd have to quit? Would Grissom hang him out to dry too?

"I haven't thought about it."

That was the honest truth; but somehow the cameras looked almost stunned at his reply. They were obviously expecting him to break down and inform them all of his resignation; or just utter 'no comment' again.

"There are a lot of people calling for your resignation."

He frowned at that thought; no one needed to tell him about that. He had plenty of letters that were pretty clear that he should just step down now; but with the media announcing it too- there was little he could do to argue against it.

What was life going to be like if he wasn't a CSI? What would normal sleeping routines be like? What would happen once there was no Grissom, Sara, Warrick, Catherine or Nick? Well, more so Nick than anyone else. What would he do? Where would he go? Who would he be?

Yes, that concerned him most, who he'd end up being. He could no longer be Greg Sanders- Lab Rat turned Field Mouse. He couldn't be the CSI protégé; he couldn't be one of the most qualified DNA technicians in the country. He could go and be Greg Sanders, research analyst, and he could die of boredom too. Meanwhile his moments of uncertainty were being caught on camera as he considered the future. Well, at least now there was a brightside... He could make a film out of this in twenty years time!

"CSI Sanders; will you resign?"

They were pressing him for an answer; they wanted him to crack underneath their watchful stares. They wanted good television and a break-down of a killer was certainly one way to get it. Why was it now he was alone? There was no Tanner to reassure everyone of his heroics, there was no Brass to take the brunt, there was no crime scene tape to keep them away. He didn't have Nick as a safety net to catch him when he fell- and he knew that somehow he'd end up getting hurt in this.

"I-I-I…" Now everything was malfunctioning on him; he was feeling woozy and just wanted to get away from all the prying eyes. His brain and mouth were no longer working in tandem- instead they were making him look like a mockery on national television.

He didn't really mind though; because after all he already looked a mockery. A big, tough CSI was afraid to leave his home without someone there. He was terrified of the simplest of things now; he couldn't go down alleyways. Nick assured him that it was natural, part of the healing process. But how could he be healing whilst the wounds kept being reopened? It just wouldn't go away; no matter what he tried to do.

Greg knew things really couldn't get much worse- officially his life was not really worth living anymore. Everything was just getting too much for him to be able to walk around with; it was weighing him down.

People didn't see what that night was about; they didn't see a mob of teenagers beating one guy to a pulp, they didn't see the one that refused to go and wanted to finish Tanner off; they didn't see that he ran at Greg; they didn't see that very same CSI pulled from his car nor beaten within a inch of his life. They just saw the family of Demetrius James weeping about their loss and how a CSI had done it.

Things really were backwards.

"You see this money CSI? It's justice for the boy you killed. You were guilty all along; never excusable. This money is proof our boy was innocent!" Demetrius James's mother yelled smugly down towards him; and he gulped. He knew he shouldn't have come here; and right now he wished that the ground would come and swallow him whole.

But he knew that wasn't going to happen. Instead he was left watching as the family savoured their new found wealth. Greg really knew that there, in that cheque, was everything he'd ever believed as right being given away. He didn't know what to think about anymore, he didn't know how to react. People were telling him the ways he should react- that nightmares were normal- that to feel sometimes hopeless was fine- but he wasn't feeling that anymore.

He just wanted to run away; because somehow there was a price to a life. And that showed just truly how dark humanity had become.


End file.
